Purple and Gold Chronicles - Draft Day Sports Pro Basketball 2016

[The Purple Emperor]

The rain fell from the sky, pouring ceaselessly over us. I was glad for it, for it concealed my tears.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

Her hair was wet, her eyes shimmering. Was she crying, too? I couldn't tell, and to look into her face was to be hit with torrents of pain. And so my eyes dropped to my hand. What once seemed shining silver now appeared moody, unhappy gray, the amethyst stone dulled by the deluge crashing down. There was a promise in that ring, and now that promise was broken - shattered as my soul.

"You have to understand," she continued. "I'm leaving for New York tomorrow. You're here, I'm there. I can't live like that."

"But I told you I'd go with you!"

She bowed her head, the noxious odor of too much water intermingling with the strawberry-apple-vanilla of her favorite shampoo to create a scent I couldn't place, and didn't care to.

"You wouldn't be happy, Michael."

"I'd be happy as long as I was with you."

In answer, she sighed, turning her back. Although she wore a coat, I could still picture the precise line of her spine, the one I ran my fingers over that morning after we made love, laughing at the happy coziness of my apartment against the angry storm. "No... just accept this for what it is."

Before I could respond, before I could continue fighting, she ran off down the street, a wall of rain soon concealing her from sight. From my life.

I stood there, promise ring still in my flat hand, literally reeling inside from the shock, my head bombarded with the dizzy unreality of it all.

And so, four days after my 31st birthday, in the last year of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's 20s, and the last season before he entered free agency waters, my life plunged into a lake of despair.

[Young Drachma]

Ooh following

[The Purple Emperor]

Thank you, Young Drachma. I hope it shall prove enjoyable to you.

[The Purple Emperor]

In a fit of sudden inspiration, I'd dashed to the airport, arriving shortly before her flight left. I envisioned the cinematic charm of the grand gesture, her swept away in a tidal wave of love and romance. Unfortunately, she was cool to my passions, gazing at me with her eyes, blue and luminescent as the Aegean. She promised, after much pressing, to write me, and then boarded her plane without a touch or a kiss. And so again, I found myself watching her leave, her blonde hair a golden cloud about her neck. It had a tendency to poodle-sheepdog after being too long in the rain, but I still found it adorable beyond words, filling me with an indescribable tenderness. The sea was in her eyes, the sun in her hair, and oh God, oh God, to see her take flight, flying so far away she may as well have gone direct to the heaven she came from! I stood there at the gate, watching as the plane took off in that Southern California sky, and wept. I didn't care about the stares, the uncomfortable coughs. My light, my life, was gone, and nothing could illuminate my internal darkness.

Adorable, too, were our nicknames for each other. While we were Michael and Michelle, so close in spelling, down to the first four letters and a stray consonant and vowel matching, the pronunciations were naturally different. And so we called, wrote, and referred to one another by our phonetics. Mykell and Mihshell. It was insufferably sweet to our friends, who would invariably roll their eyes on hearing us. But it was something special, something that belonged to only us. And yet, I had the stomach-wrenching feeling that there would be no more of that. The intimate, affectionate Mykell and Mihshell would be replaced by the formal, indifferent Michael and Michelle. As long as she didn't call me Mike. I'm not a trucker from Ohio, after all.

Even in our careers, we were close, yet distinct. I was a sportswriter for a certain rival to the LA Times. They had us bested on political and world news, but we trounced them in sports. The owner of our paper was of the particular belief that it was sports that dominated the American landscape, and so he hired the best writers to cover one specific team, and one team only. I had charge of the Lakers, the purple and gold royalty - Kareem its king of kings.

As for Mihshell (I refused to surrender until forced to), she was a journalist of a different flavor, the magazine to my newspaper. In fact, she was going to New York to become a feature writer for Vogue. I was in the realm of men and sports, and she had dominion over the land of women and fashion. Even in that, we were a perfect complement. I could not, and never will, be with a woman who is also a newspaper writer. Then professional jealousy would develop if our successes were unequal. Look at Scott and Zelda - the former a titan of American literature, the latter with aspirations of her own, yet thwarted by her own mental instability and living in the shadows of her husband's triumphs. When I myself was younger, I dreamt of becoming a novelist, but soon found I lacked the imagination, the creative spirit, to wander well the otherworldly realms of fiction. More to the point, I hated the first bubblings of postmodernism sweeping the country in recent years. Call me a reactionary if you like, but I found the traditional forms the best.

When I staggered into work the next day, beset by an insomnia that would be my lone companion for weeks, I found myself cut to the heart at seeing my beloved Hermes typewriter. Normally I cherished the quirky whimsy of its seafoam color, but I found the hue too close to her eyes, and so I dug out a drab brown Smith-Corona from the bank of reserves the paper kept on hand. Its blandness soothed me, as when one settles for inoffensive foods upon being assaulted by the virulence of the flu. I spoke to no one, even when some of my coworkers asked what was wrong. Speech was impossible, and so I resolved to throw myself into my work.

I had just commenced writing up the team's season preview when I received a call from Ed Culling, the Lakers' assistant general manager. The actual GM was notorious for his hatred of the media, and relied on his underling to disseminate news to us of the Third Estate.

"Hey, Michael," came Ed's easy-going baritone. "Got some news for you. The boss isn't happy with what's around Kareem, so we've got a trade coming down. I'll get you the details later, but I wanted to give you a heads up, since I know you like to get an early start on the preview. Figured I'd save you some work."

I forced my voice to a normal tone. "Oh, really? Can you at least tell me who's going? I'll just cut whoever it is out of the preview."

"Nope." Laughter was in his voice. "Just hold off until this afternoon. Talk to you then."

The dial tone sounded in my ear for some time before I finally set the receiver down. Change in my life, change in my team. Change all around me.

[The Purple Emperor]

I resolved to proceed with the preview despite the heavy grief coursing through me. A fresh, white sheet rolled up in the Smith-Corona, my fingers on the keys, set to type... and then my eye stupidly fell on the framed picture sitting on my desk. Mihshell and I in Venice, on the Adriatic, the large and lovely sun leisurely sinking into the water behind us. We're more silhouettes than anything because of the photo's composition, but the light outlining us makes our bodies glow with a surreal beauty. Perhaps that's why I like it so much. The abstraction of our forms against the light and the water, the richness of reds and yellows, the sparkling blue... they're a color combination that allows my mind to drift and think of other trips, other points of love in our relationship.

But now joy was shot through with sorrow, and an amber melancholy held me in morose suspension in my chair. It was during the dead period of the basketball calendar, and she had an interview with a major designer, so we'd combined work with pleasure, and gone together. It was a lovely week spent solely in The Bride of the Sea. I dreamed of going back at some future date to propose to her - Venice's aquatic charms have always appealed to me far more than the conventional romance associated with Paris. But now that dream was mere dust - she in a Big Apple, I in a City of Angels without my angel. I felt exiled as Dante, and there was nothing divine or comedic about how I felt.

The jangle of my phone interrupted the repeating replays of romantic reels in my head.

"Michael! Ed here!"

"Hello, Ed. What's the deal?"

"We sent our 1st round pick and Tom Abernathy to the Pistons for M.L. Carr, Leon Douglas, and Detroit's 2nd round pick in the next two drafts."

This was huge news. Carr was just 26, under contract for two more years, and one of the NBA's best defenders, in addition to be an exceptional rebounder for a wing. Douglas was a 22 year old rookie, drafted 4th overall in fact. Although raw, he was a 6'10, 230 pound big man who projected to be a very good rebounder. Of more immediate importance, he gave the team much needed size, and a legitimate backup to Kareem.

After I hung up with Ed, I was able to focus on the preview, spurred on by news of the trade.

Point Guard
Lucius Allen – 29
Not the most consummate passer, but with a well-rounded game that functions well with the rest of the lineup. The question still needs to be asked if he’s a legitimate championship winning point guard due to his comparative lack of passing ability, but he’ll do for now.

Dwight Lamar – 25
Not a starter, and a poor backup, in all truth. The Lakers will need Allen to stay healthy, or move one of their surplus swings to upgrade this position.

Shooting Guard
Earl Tatum – 22
Quality handling and stealing upside, but right now, the second round pick who has been thrust into the lineup feels like just another guy. Finding a higher quality player here will be critical if the Purple and Gold wishes to hoist championship gold

Don Chaney – 30
The coaching staff sees upside in Tatum, so they’re starting him over the veteran Chaney, who boasts a powerful defensive game, but is a net zero on offense. Then again, given Kareem and co, is that really such a bad thing?

Johnny Neumann and Allen Murphy on the inactive list and do not project to play meaningful minutes this season.

Small Forward
M.L. Carr – 26
Everyone is fired up about the deal that just landed this kid. The gulf in talent between him and Cazzie Russell, particularly on the defensive side of the ball, is as immense as the oceans. Getting Carr proves the Lakers are serious about going for it all this year, and they gave up their first round pick to do so.

Cazzie Russell – 32
The front office tried frantically to move him, but no one wanted to put up with his contract. A mediocre player in every sense of the word, and on a deeper team would be roster fodder rather than the primary backup.

Charles Kupec – 23
He can draw contact. That’s the extent of his skills.

Marv Roberts is just a body.

Power Forward
Kermit Washington – 25
Stellar offensive rebounder who excels at getting to the line. Beyond that, there’s nothing special about him. Another area that could probably use improvement, but it’s not as critical as shooting guard, so the Lakers will ride with him.

Don Ford – 26
Will play both forward spots in a backup role, although he has no business seeing as much court time as he will.

Cornell Warner – 28
He doesn’t even deserve a contract to play professional basketball, but he’ll nonetheless serve as the third string 4 and 5. Another reason why the M.L. was so critical to the Purple and Gold.

Center
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar – 29
If you need me to say anything about him, turn in your basketball fan card. God in basketball form.

Leon Douglas – 22
Can already get to the line and play solid defense. Hard to believe the Pistons gave up on the #4 overall pick so soon, but evidently they didn’t see in him what the Lakers’ organization does. To our benefit, for sure. Going from Warner to him is like going from Cazzie to M.L. Maybe even a bigger jump than that. Everyone takes about Carr, but Douglas may well turn out the more vital pickup when all is said and done.

Of course this is all an excerpt. My actual article was much more extensive. My closing line - "As ever, the chances of title glory rest solely on Kareem's 7'2 frame."

At least the front office recognized he needed help and executed the move to bring him just that. Hopefully they'll make other deals to fix the giant holes still resident on the roster.

The corresponding void in my heart could of course be filled only by Mihshell. Though it'd only been a day since she flew away, I hoped - no, I prayed - she would write posthaste and provide the slightest balm to the pain throbbing in my body, my soul, my everything.

[The Purple Emperor]

I traveled out to Brooklyn for the team's opening night. The first quarter began with ugliness, both teams missing the combined first nine shots before Nate "Tiny" Archibald nailed a 3 pointer. The rest of the period things heated up somewhat, and thanks to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's 8 points, the Lakers held a slim 25-22 lead at the end of the first. Lucius Allen had picked up two fouls early in the first, forcing Dwight Lamar to get the majority of minutes. There's little question this Lakers squad was going to be built on defense - The Nets shot just 35% the first twelve minutes, though the Lakers were little better at 40%.

The second quarter was equally ugly, only this time my boys couldn't buy a shot with Rockefeller money, and so we went into the locker room down 41-44. Don Chaney, who I'd praised so much in my preview, was shooting us out of the game, making just 2 of his 11 shots, and not even M.L. Carr's 10 points on a lovely 4 for 5, with a block and steal besides. The Nets used a balanced game against us, though Nate Archibald was taking advantage of too much Dwight Lamar to give us fits, and though the halftime box score didn't reflect it, Al Skinner seemed to be in everyone's face and wreaking havoc.

We continued chipping away at the lead in the third, finally taking it and managing to hang on for a 72-67 advantage going into the final period. Kareem woke up in this one, scoring 10 points to hit the 20 mark. M.L. Carr contributed a lot as well, but though we were holding them to 36% shooting and hitting 47.2% ourselves, they had double our three pointers and 8 more free throw attempts at a higher percentage. This was not going to be an easy one, particularly since we'd had the advantage of Kim Hughes sitting out most of the period, which allowed Kareem to rip apart Jim Fox. Not that Kareem was completely flawless however. Twice Nate Archibald made him like stupid with deft, quick shots around the God of Basketball.

Sure enough, five straight points from Al Skinner early on cut our margin to two points. It was white-knuckle most of the rest of the way, particularly when Earl Tatum fouled out and we had to go forth with Don Cheney. But some magical defensive plays by M.L. Carr, Kareem Kareeming, and a couple key threes from our backcourt made it a 101-91 final, season-opening victory that was far, far closer than it looked. And it felt like we should have won by more, given the 47.2% to 39.5% field goal advantage, but it was still a victory.

No question as to Player of the Game. Kareem muscled his way to 29 points and 11 rebounds. M.L. Carr was exactly what the Lakers had hoped for, too. He had 18 points, 7 rebounds, 2 steals, and 2 blocks, making 7 of 10. Kermit Washington also double-doubled with 15 points and 10 rebounds. But the backcourt defense continued to worry me. Nate Archibald, Robert Hawkins, and Al Skinner combined for 54 of Brooklyn's 91 points. Also troubling was Dwight Lamar getting 33 minutes of playing time. That wasn't going to cut it.

It may seem strange that I focused more on the negative aspects, instead of being thrilled at the win. But as I sat there in my crummy room in the Brooklyn Super 8, I was left alone with my thoughts. I usually called Mihshell after I filed my game report, just to hear the sound of her soft voice. And now I couldn't do that. Nor could I go into Manhattan and look for her - I didn't want to seem desperate, and besides, I still didn't know where she lived. No letter came in the three weeks since she'd been gone. And going to the Vogue offices... that was a movie move, and I already knew how that would turn out after the airport incident.

Instead, I sighed, and picked up Interview with the Vampire. The writing was wretched, but reading a vampire story was a welcome relief from the stresses and unhappiness plaguing me. I didn't want to go out in public, even it meant I might run into Mihshell. I'd be too likely to make a fool of myself. And yet, the sense that was she near... I was tempted. So tempted.